


Broken Promises and False Pretences

by ebonyandunicorn



Category: Primeval: New World
Genre: Angst, M/M, More angst, One-Sided Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 15:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebonyandunicorn/pseuds/ebonyandunicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"All I know is, everything he ever told me, right from the beginning... It was all a lie."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Promises and False Pretences

In a dingy little pub in Vancouver (far from where he had been born, but all too close to where he had died), Mac Rendell was staring into the wood of an increasingly fuzzy table and reflecting upon an unpleasant truth: that it is a very bad idea to fall in love with one's boss. 

There was, Mac knew, nothing for it but to file that away under 'advice one should have taken long ago', and to take another swig at his fifth – or was it sixth? – drink in the hope that it would ward off the memories lurking at the back of his mind. They were memories that had, until approximately eight hours ago, been numbered among the best in his life. Now they tasted of deceit, of broken promises and false pretenses, of a six-year relationship founded on lies that was over before it had begun. There was also a rather strong taste of cheap vodka, but that was probably more to do with what he'd been drinking than with his thoughts, and it burned in a similar way in any case. 

Long ago, Mac had come to the conclusion that he only had himself to blame. When his feelings towards his boss had begun to stray from the platonic and the professional into something much worse, he had resisted them at first with all his might, for all the good that that had done. He could have counted the ways in which it could possibly have ended well on one hand. Evan Cross was brilliantly clever, effortlessly charismatic and not at all unattractive, whereas he, Mac Rendell, was just a kid with a love of guns and the occasional witty one-liner. In addition to all of that, Evan was a man in mourning, and that only made Mac's feelings for him even less excusable. What kind of sick, selfish person decided it was okay to fancy a guy so achingly cut up over the death of his wife? 

The death of his wife. Mac drained what little was left of his drink at the thought. Six years ago, Brooke had been killed by an Albertosaurus... and today Mac had learned that she had not been its only victim. Somehow, Mac himself had come through an anomaly to save Evan's life by sacrificing his own. Somewhere, somewhen. In another universe, another life. Another time. 

He motioned towards the bar and then to his now-empty glass, despite knowing that no amount of alcohol would wash this away for good. If nothing else, perhaps it could grant him a reprieve from the thoughts that were chasing themselves around in his head, thoughts that didn't lend themselves to easy resolution. Mac was not a stupid man, but he also doubted that any person on Earth would be able to deal with a situation like this with any degree of ease. Even Evan Cross would surely have to sit down and mull it over slowly. Seeing one's body stashed in the workplace freezer tended to do that to a man. 

_"I had to hide you."_ Evan's words, spoken in such a careless, offhand manner, crept into Mac's skull and made him grimace. He wondered if the casual tone of voice had been a side effect of whatever dino drug Evan had ingested, or if Evan simply didn't care. The part of Mac that still believed in the first smile Evan had given him wanted to hope it was the former. The part of Mac that earlier that evening had walked out of Cross Photonics with no intention of returning disagreed. 

First smile. Where had he learned such sentimentality? Perhaps it was the alcohol, or maybe several years of unrequited love. He'd thought of it now, though, and now there was nothing for it but to remember. 

December, 2006. Cold in England, colder still on the estate. His mother had been sick for two years, his father dead for eight months; he was a fortnight away from enlisting and then, out of the blue, someone had knocked on his door. When Mac had opened it, he'd been greeted by a man with an expression of such relief and joy he'd had to smile in return. It was the first time in a long time Mac could remember someone being pleased to see him. 

He had made up his mind to go with Evan Cross before the offer had even been made. He would follow Evan anywhere if it meant leaving the estate, leaving a life in London that had been rough at best and downright miserable at worst. Maybe even back then Mac was already a little bit in love with him, the stranger with a smile who had turned up to change Mac's life. In any event, it wasn't long before he was flying to Canada and signing a contract, and all of a sudden he had devoted his life to the service of Evan Cross. 

Not once in six years had Mac regretted that decision. 

Until now. 

Now, more fervently than he hoped that this sixth (or seventh) drink would be the one with the ability to inflict sudden and irreversible amnesia, Mac Rendell was wishing he had said no to Evan Cross. He was wishing he had joined the army and lived out the rest of his days in London, being verbally abused by a colonel with a face like a pit bull's and the barking voice to match. Anything would have been preferable to working under Evan, first grateful to him for the chance at a better life, then respectful of him as a fair boss, then fond of him as a friend – and now in love with him, as he had been for several years. It wasn't that much of a big deal, really; Mac certainly wouldn't be the first person to fall totally and hopelessly for the handsome genius that was Evan Cross. One only had to spend five minutes in the same room as Evan and Ange Finch to figure that one out. 

Ange. _God damn it, Mac, you've gotta stop thinking. Why are you doing this to yourself?_ Ange Finch, Evan's oldest friend and business partner, the person to whom he was closest in the world. The fact that Ange was also strikingly pretty and utterly in love with Evan was something to which Mac had hoped the man would continue to remain oblivious, but recently that had changed. Mac read it in their body language and the way their eyes would drift towards one another, in the smiles that were now permanently tucked away in the corners of their mouths, and in the way Evan carried himself now, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Like he was lighter. Like he was happy. And Mac was happy for him, of course he was, and he had been grieving for Sam in any case – because loving Evan was just a background thing now, an everyday fact of life, and he was trying to love other people, to get on with everything regardless – but happiness and grief, it seemed, could still leave room for jealousy. And tonight even jealousy had given way to something worse, something hurting and terrible that Mac could not have named even before the alcohol. It was a combination of fear and confusion and sadness and anger – anger at Evan for a thousand different reasons; anger at himself for letting things get this far; anger at whichever supreme being was responsible for the anomalies, responsible for all of this. 

Mostly, though, Mac simply felt betrayed. The past six years of his life – the _best_ six years of his life – had been a lie. His whole reason for working at Cross Photonics had been a lie. His entire relationship with Evan had been a lie. More than anything else, that hurt. When Evan had turned up that day and offered Mac a job and a smile, Mac had felt, for the first time in a long time, _worth_ something. He had a purpose. He had someone who wanted him around. Now? Now Mac no longer knew if the friendship they had built over those six years – the in-jokes, the nights out, the reverse bunny-hop that Evan had found so impressive – meant anything at all. Maybe Evan had been lying about all of that too. 

Deep in his pocket Mac felt a vibration, though it took him a moment to remember it was his phone. He took it out and flipped it open: six missed calls, four unread texts. The most recent missed call was from Dylan; Mac didn't bother to check the others. There was nothing Evan could say in a voicemail or text message that would begin to make this okay. 

He was done with Evan. He was done with his job. In the morning he would hand in his official resignation and then he would be on his way. He'd go back to London, probably, because he owed it to what was left of his family and because Vancouver was dominated by memories of Evan Cross, memories Mac never wanted to visit again. There was nothing left for him in Canada but a long string of what-might-have-beens, and Mac usually went out of his way not to get tangled up in regrets and hypotheticals. Tonight he was making an exception, but tonight he was also hurt and quite drunk, so he could forgive himself this one transgression. Tomorrow he would make preparations for returning to London, and begin the long, arduous, painful process of forgetting Evan Cross. 


End file.
